


FIFO

by KaT_John_Adams



Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaT_John_Adams/pseuds/KaT_John_Adams
Summary: Inspired by this post: https://elsewhereuniversity.tumblr.com/post/163616608308/im-a-technical-theatre-major-i-dont-perform-on
Kudos: 9





	FIFO

Gin pulled a screw from the platform that had been Arthur’s throne dais and kissed it. First screw out in the takedown. He tucked it into his pocket. It’d featured in seven performances now, so it was time to add the brass friend to the collection.

Tradition for Gin, first screw in, first screw out. Brass, unlike all the high-iron steel. Seven shows each. It was his tradition and the other techs respected it like he respected theirs.

The murmurs didn’t draw his attention at first; there were always people passing through the theater space. But the Difference caught his ear soon, and he adjusted his grip on the old wood handled screw driver, good iron rich steel shaft, names of past owners, all family, etched in the handle, and he turned to face the Voices that drew closer.

As he turned, the thud of a steel clad boot startled him. What looked all the world like a modern romantic imagining of King Arthur stepped onto the stage, and the impact resonated through the stage floor. Several figures, impossible to make out as if his eyes weren’t in focus, sat in the rows.

“You won’t need that.”

Gin didn’t point the screw driver at this visage of power. He was not so stupid. Raised to fear and respect power and violence, he felt his dead name, the girl he had been, warning him to be weak and cooperative. He listened, but refused to quail.

“I do need it, I have work. The stage needs to be taken down for the next show to go on. The theater is closed right now except to staff and theater majors. Please come back during the day.” Polite, correct, unflinching.

“But we enjoyed this performance. We do not wish you to take down this story. It should continue.”

Gin’s eyes hurt, but he refused to look away. And he refused to back down. For actors, for techs, for designers and writers. This theater was a safe haven. He knew what not being safe felt like. And so They could not take this place. “No. All stories end. All of them. At least, for us they do. Make your own theater, do your own shows, _do not hurt this Place_.”

The tech didn’t imagine it, the Knight/King flinched. They had known this Place had meaning and power, had not realized the students did, too. But it was a place for the students, and the invoking of that power from a feeling of true belief, shook them.

“We wish for this story to continue. You mustn’t end it.” A hint of pleading almost colored Their voice.

Gin laughed. A sense of confusion swept the rows. The mortal _dare_?

He recovered and smiled. “Then don’t let it! Here, wait a moment please.” He walked into the wings and pulled a copy of the script from the chair it’d sat on, forgotten for days.

“Take it. A story can’t be forced or stolen or given away, only shared. Build a stage, perform it yourselves.” He paused. “But a story can’t be forced, take no students to perform it for you. It can’t live like that.” There was hesitation. But then the Knight bent to a knee and accepted the outstretched ring binder as if it were some ancient relic.

“We accept your gift. I offer you a favor in return.”

Gin froze. With one seemingly humble act the balance of power shifted, and not in Gin’s favor. He knew enough to realize what a dangerous but powerful place he was in.

“Here.”

The One looked up in confusion at the brass screw the tech held out in a shaking hand. “Promise that you’ll build your own stage for this, and keep this tradition: the first screw used is brass, and if you ever take the stage down, it’s the first one out. This one has built seven stages in our world. That’s part of it, too. After seven stages, it gets to retire. Fair’s fair.”

The armor clad knight nodded and reached out for the screw; but Gin pulled it back and kissed it again before placing it in Their hand. The Fae considered the small thing for a moment, and kissed it as well.

“My word it will be.”

If Gin’s stages were always stable the first time, if their shims sat more securely, if their nails never wiggled up to snag a costume, no one _really_ noticed. But ever after the tradition was kept, even after Gin graduated; the first screw in was brass, and it was the first out. Seven shows and then it was added to a growing collection, kept safe and loved in the sound box.

And if there was an Arthurian story told every year on that stage, it was little remarked on. And if _someones_ showed up for each of these, it was less remarked on.

Brass binds well.


End file.
